Phantasma-Gloria
by Captain Edward Kenway
Summary: After the horrors endured in China, Chris and Piers find themselves in a deserted mansion with a whole new set of terrors awaiting them. Collaboration with scriptsscrapscutlery on tumbr. Chris/Piers
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**: scriptsscrapscutlery wrote Piers, and I wrote Chris. In editing, he decided to keep our different forms of possession (he writes Piers's, I write Chris') to let the reader know whose section they're reading. Warning for violence and gore.

* * *

The windshield wipers did their best to keep the snow at bay, but each one of the flakes melted and froze. Before long, there was a layer of ice on the windshield and it grew more difficult to see the lines on the road. Piers wasn't sure if it was his head that was making everything double, or if it was the reflection of the headlights off of the snow on the side of the road. He was unphased by the thought and decided that closing his eyes was the best option. Piers could see that the back window was still mostly unfrozen. He couldn't see where he was going exactly, but he could tell where he had been, and with that little bit of information he could see that Chris wasn't swerving off the road. That brought a little bit of comfort as he blinked his eyes again and then let his head rest. Looking at Chris didn't help either because the more Chris grew frustrated, the heavier Piers's head felt. It must have been some sort of empathy things they had built up over the past few weeks of being together.

China seemed so long ago….

Piers felt his head, his eyes still closed, and he furrowed his brow the same way that Chris was as he tried to see through the ice on the windshield. Piers felt warm, a lot warmer than he usually did, and he began to wonder whether it was the cold air outside (and the numbness of his hands), or if the numbness of his body was because he wasn't doing as well as he thought he was. He hadn't felt well for the past few days, and he felt worse in the hours leading up to the trip…. A fluke? The flu? Something worse? He just kept calm. No reason to worry Chris anymore than the icy roads probably already were.

Chris fought to keep his eyes focused on the road; he knew he had to stay sharp, not only for his sake, but for the man sitting next to him in the passenger seat. It wasn't just about Chris anymore; it was about keeping both of them safe. Chris felt small and helpless, clutching the steering wheel ever tighter, the muscles in his jaw aching as he clenched his teeth. The wipers moving back and forth against the windshield grated on his already throbbing temple, the bleakness of the snow mixed with the glaring headlights making it even worse. Every time he felt Piers' eyes on him, he wanted to say something; do something. Anything. His lips would open and the briefest of sounds would emerge, then he would think better of it, deciding to simply lick his lips or sigh lightly.

There wasn't exactly a destination he had in mind. As long as Piers was with him, he could keep moving forward; always forward, never back. To even glance into the rearview mirror felt dooming in Chris' mind, like the road traveled thus far represented how far they had come, and what lurked at the beginning of their misfortune.

When he finally gathered the courage to speak, he said, "How are you doing over there, Snipey?" He chanced a brief hand across Piers' forehead, and the heat of it made him frown.

Piers gave a weak smile when Chris put his hand on his forehead. It was so much cooler than his own skin; it gave him a little bit of a shiver, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same.

"I'm fine. Just keep your eyes on the road…, and don't call me 'Snipey' anymore. I thought that we talked about it, or have you already forgotten?"

There was a sharp pain across his forehead. He didn't know why this was happening to him, but he wasn't particularly worried about it. He concentrated more on not letting Chris see him in any sort of distress. That was the nature of the game. Their relationship was already…stressed. China and all.

"I would offer to drive, but as you can feel, I'm not particularly well. Sorry, um, sorry if it's worrying you. I'm fine though. I promise."

Seeing Piers smile and hearing his voice after so many quiet hours was infectious. Chris let out a long breath, loosened his grip on the steering wheel ever so gently, and felt the tension in his brow easing. The heat from Piers' skin lingered in Chris' mind, however; it made him even more painfully aware to the younger man's suffering.

"Did we?" Chris mused. "Yeah, I guess I have forgotten." Even more than a caring hand, he wanted to keep them vocally tethered, but the words slipped sloppily from his mind.

"Of course, Piers. You don't have to apologize." His glance darted across the icy road, and, after noting Piers' shiver and the chill crawling up his own neck, he leaned forward to turn up the heat a little. "Is this alright? It's not too hot, is it?"

The warm air that circled around the car was probably part of the problem, but Piers didn't want Chris to feel as though he was doing something wrong, so instead, he opened his window a little bit and stuck his hand out. It was numb already so he didn't really feel the cold air, but it did cut the heat a little bit.

"Now it's perfect. Thanks," Piers said.

The car kept lurching forward, but the darkness and the snow made it seem like they weren't getting anywhere. The lines stayed the same, and the ice on the windshield blurred everything. It was getting worse, and soon, they wouldn't be able to see out of the windshield at all…no matter how much heat was in the car. Were they supposed to continue?

There was this strange feeling in Piers's head. He didn't feel as bad, and he thought that it might have been the heat in the car. Then he thought…he didn't remember where they were going, or why they were going. It was strange. Piers didn't even really remember getting in the car, and the more he thought about this, the more he got worried.

"Chris, I'm not feeling so well," he finally said. Was it that he wasn't feeling well, or was it that everything just seemed hazy, and that none of this made sense. He repeated it, "I'm not feeling well…"

His breath started to slow down. His eyes looked dilated, and he started to sweat a great deal.

"Piers?" Between the weather and watching over Piers, Chris was starting to lose his composure. He turned his head somewhat to look at him, then immediately shot his focus back onto the road as the car began to swerve slightly. "Dammit." This time, he kept a firm hand on the wheel as he reached out to feel Piers' head again, trailing down to check his pulse. His skin was clammy, his pulse slow. "Come on, stay with me, Piers."

The steering wheel started to feel slippery in his hands and he realized how much he was sweating, and how badly he was shaking.

"Piers… Come on, Piers, we can do this." In the glare of the headlights, Chris swore he saw some kind of building in the distance through the icy windshield; far, but not impossible. Partially blanketed with snow, but not entirely, Chris could at least make out that it was enormous in size. "See, Piers? Just, look. There's a place we can stop."

Piers didn't respond though. He was burning up, and his breathing grew even shallower as he started to slip into a fevered sleep, and even in sleep his hands started to shake more. The air that sliced through the crack in window began to give a slight whistle, until it grew into a whirling howl. It was the only thing that would respond to Chris's desperate attempts to reach Piers.

To an untrained observer, it looked as though Piers wasn't going to make it much longer.

The closer they became to their new destination, the farther Chris felt Piers slipping away. He wanted more than anything to speed up, and on any other day, maybe he could have. As soon as the building was looming over them, Chris slammed on the brakes and threw open the door. He ran around the hood of the car and nearly tore off the door of the passenger side.

Piers looked barely conscious. Chris wanted to be gentle, but also hurry, so as tenderly as he could, he cupped his cheek, then slipped one arm behind Piers' back to grab hold of his shoulder. He used his other hand to support Piers' knees and pulled him out of the vehicle.

The snow was beginning to come down harder then, so he held Piers close as he made his way towards the edifice. Looking up above the porch's archway briefly, he was reminded of that fateful day in the Arklay Mountains as the darkness of the long, front window stood out against the somberness of the surrounding snow.

"Hello?" Chris shifted Piers in his arms and banged on the front door as much as he could manage. "Is anyone home? Please, we need some help!"

All was quiet, other than the wind brushing the snow through the air and across his body. The snow was so cold, while Piers was so warm. He tried knocking again, but there was no response. Gazing down onto Piers' face, his eyes closed, Chris held his breath and wrapped his hand around the doorknob. It was a desperate attempt to grasp hold of the situation, and he was about to pull his hand back and kick open the door, but the knob slowly turned in his hand.

He carried Piers inside to what he hoped was a place of rest and safety.

* * *

"Hey, sexy…" Piers said as he felt himself being laid out on some cushioned surface. It probably wasn't the best line to let Chris know that he was okay, but at least it got his point across, and he did just carry him from the car. There was something romantic about it, at least.

It was a couch in one of the first rooms of the building, he was laying on a couch. Whatever the structure was, it was cold on the inside, and everything smelt sort of like disinfectant, and all of the furniture looked strangely uniformed for an eccentric mansion off an old country road, but the aberrant decor was nothing compared to the openness of the space. There was no noise except for the hum of the industrial lighting overhead. It felt sterile on the inside.

"Antipyretic…. I'm burning up, Chris. I need it…" Piers said, but it was slow, and low in his vocal register. There was a waver in the middle as though he was enjoying the sound of it as it slipped from his lips. "I need it," he said again, and there was a moan at the end of it. His hands moved down from his chest to his pelvis, but then he slipped back into a fevered sleep.

Please… hung in the air like yesterday.

Chris let out an exhausted sigh of relief at Piers' words. "Yeah, yeah, right back at you," he breathed. "Antipyretic? Okay, I can do that. Just relax, okay? I'm going to go look for a bathroom." He raised Piers' hand to his lips and kissed it gently, before turning to explore the back rooms.

Checking door after door in one of the mansion's long corridors, the last door became stuck and Chris had to force it open with his shoulder, but it was ultimately the room he was looking for. The bathroom was small, and he immediately crossed the peeling tile to the cabinet above the sink. There were numerous bottles, mostly with names he couldn't even begin to pronounce. Grabbing every bottle that involved reducing fever, he was about to return to Piers when out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shower curtain slowly blowing, as if in a summer breeze. Looking over to the lone bathroom window, Chris saw that it was shut, and before he could react, the plastic of the curtain bent in a loud crack, tearing off each of the shower rings one by one.

The white porcelain had been stained red, and the body that was in the tub repositioned itself when the curtain fell to the ground. Some of the contents of the tub fell over the edge and onto the floor. The bright red hue of the liquid that seeped from the tub caused the illumination of bathroom to glow with a light, crimson tone. The room suddenly smelt of rotting meat, sweat, and blood.

"Hello, Captain…" the body in the tub said. It's head turned to look up at Chris, and it was missing it's right eye, and pieces of skin were falling from its face. It's right arm was just completely missing, and some of its ribcage was exposed; the skin being (what looked like) eaten away by some infection or from water decomposition. It was a severely disfigured Piers Nivans.

The stench was overwhelming, bile rising in Chris' throat as he rushed to the side of the tub, falling to his knees. His eyes were watering but he blinked away the deterrence, his hands slipping on the murky liquid overflowing from the tub's rim.

"Piers, what are you doing in here? Why are you trying to walk, you should have… Piers, what happened? What happened to you?!"

"You happened to me, Captain. You lost me there, in China. Or do you not remember that either? The great Chris Redfield hides his memories from himself. How pathetic you are. Look at what you did to me; gaze upon the horror that you brought to this world! Couldn't even defend yourself, so I had to drag my body to your rescue. And here you go, tumbling to the ground. Make up your mind, Captain. Do you want me, or do you wish to see me twisted and broken? I got so bored waiting for you to make up your mind that I decided to pick at my mutation, and you see where that got me. Another infliction from the captain that was supposed to watch out for me."

Piers just started laughing at Chris, and as his body moved through the sludge in the bathtub, a little more of the crimson liquid spilled over the side and onto the floor around Chris, but the laughter just continued.

"Kiss me, Captain. I need it. I'm on fire, and I need a kiss," Piers said through the heinous snickering.

"Please, Piers. I wanted to save you. More than anything. I was weak! That's why I had you by my side; to keep me in check. You were always there for me, Piers." Chris fervently leaned close, his palms soaking in the bloodied water. "I want you. I want you to stay. Don't leave me. I can take care of you."

Without a second thought, he moved his face towards Piers', wanting to assure Piers his words were true, and to convince himself of his sanity. The scent of putrid flesh filled his nose and every pore, causing his eyes to water and his throat to constrict. The only thing that made him pause was the look in Piers' lone eye.

"I'm sorry. I can't." Chris shook his gaze free, turning away. "This isn't real. This isn't happening." He stood up, his locked knees nearly making him stumble. Remembering the medicine, he shook the bottles lightly. "This is for you. The real you. I'm going to take care of you. I'll set things right."

"You can never set it right, Chris Redfield! He's not going to be there!" the visage shouted from the bathtub. The cackling continued until the door reached the frame, and then all the noise in the mansion suddenly disappeared. There was silence, but there was no solace. There was a painfulness to just how quiet it was. If Chris opened the door, he would see nothing sitting in the bathtub. That part was over; however, blood still clung to his clothes and hand from where it had exited the tub and fell to the floor.

Piers would be in the waiting room…wouldn't he?

Chris backed away from the door and began moving at a brisk jog. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, and his vision was blurring. His lungs burned as his legs propelled him into a full run; his hands finally grasping the frame of the door that led back into the main room.

Piers was gone.

He tore off the couch cushions in frustration, scattering them to every corner of the room haphazardly. The legs of the couch scratched against the floor as he pushed it, and finally threw it against the wall.

Piers was gone, and he didn't know what to do.

Chris massaged his throbbing head and looked all around him, coming full circle time and time again, receiving no answers from the strange dwelling they had found themselves in.

As he set off once more, this time he decided to head in the opposite direction of the corridor that led to the gruesome bathroom that had once held the apparition of Piers. The amount of options was overwhelming; door upon door; a left turn here, a right turn there. Despite the limitless possibilities, his anxiety was quelled with a certain confidence that he wouldn't get lost.

The first door he pushed open had a red hair tie around its knob. Inside ended up yielding a large kitchen, tile counter-tops bordering the far wall. The dim lighting of the rest of the mansion was even darker in the kitchen, the cabinets on the walls casting long shadows on the linoleum. Chris' heart rose in his throat at the familiarity of the oaken theme of the room. He stepped inside, the door closing quietly behind him. Something on the left-hand counter caught his eye, so he picked it up. It was a blue-gray beret, soft but worn to the touch.

"That meant a lot to Jill, didn't it?"

Chris spun around, nearly dropping the beret to the floor. In the far corner of the room was a shadowed figure facing the sink. It reached out and turned the faucet on, and as the water hit its skin, it shone white. The figure ran its wet hands through its hair, tying it up in a high ponytail. The hair he knew to be a vibrant auburn, despite the dimness of the room.

"Claire?"

The woman pivoted her body to face him. "Of course, Chris. Who else would I be?" she smiled warmly and dried her hands on her pants. Her smile faded as she rested her body back against the rim of the sink, her arms folded across her chest. "So, you're leaving again?"

"I…" Chris had unconsciously been backing towards the door. He stopped. "I'm… sorry?"

"You're sorry? You're always sorry, Chris!" The lights flickered briefly. "One day you're going to leave and never come back. Like Steve, Chris. What if what happened to Steve happens to you?"

Chris was torn, his mixed emotions fueling his response. "Claire, it's my job. Ever since Raccoon City, this is what we've done; fought bioterrorism."

"No," Claire responded, her face darkening. "You've changed. You became obsessed with finding Wesker, with killing him; beating him. After he betrayed you, that's all you could think about, wasn't it?"

"That's not true." Chris' jaw was beginning to ache from the tension, his agitation evident in the clenching of Jill's beret in his fist.

"And just look at what happened to Piers. Under your command. The one you swore to protect."

"Claire, stop." She was advancing on him, but he didn't care. "I had to protect the world from the B.O.W.s! I had to…" The knife in her hand seemed to appear out of nowhere, but he could see its gleam, and in its reflection, he saw his face. He wasn't afraid. Claire moved her arm to level the cutlery with his chest, and he closed his eyes and waited. When he opened his eyes, his breath was calm, and the room felt ten degrees cooler. His baby sister was gone, and with her, the melancholy of the room. The counters were topped with a dusty marble, the entire room smelling sickly pungent.

"I had to protect you, Claire."

Chris wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve and stuffed Jill's hat into his pocket. On his way out, as he closed the door, he took off the hair tie from around the doorknob, and he put it in his pocket alongside the hat. He left the door cracked so that he would remember which doors he had been through, although he had a feeling he'd be able to distinguish that particular disturbing memory.

He continued walking down the hall, and at the end was a lone door. Inside were various crates, and a simple round-table. On it were an old typewriter and rotary phone. The wallpaper was peeling in the corners, thin streams of mold oozing down the walls from the ceiling. Chris was about to close the door and resume his search when the phone began to ring. Despite his better judgement, he decided to pick it up. He cradled the phone between his face and shoulder while his hands fiddled with the keys of the typewriter.

"Hello?"

"Chris!"

"Jill…? How did you get this number? What is the number?"

"Chris, listen to me. Where are you? Please, Chris. We're all so worried -"

"It's okay, Jill."

"No, Chris, listen to me. It's not okay. Just listen. He needs help. Professional help. You're not certified to help him, Chris; there's nothing you can do. You need to bring him back."

"No." Chris' fingers paused. "I can't do that, Jill. You should know that better than anyone. I'm not giving him up. For you, or anyone."

"'Him?' Chris, who is 'he?' I'm talking about you. We're just trying to help you!"

Chris eyed the door. "I don't need to be helped, Jill. I'm going to hang up the phone now. I'm sorry. This is just something I have to do."

"Chris, wait. Don't you remember when everyone thought I was dead? When everyone gave up on me. But not you. You wouldn't give up on me, Chris! And you found me, and you brought me back home safe. I'm not going to give up on you, Chris."

"I know," Chris replied. "And I believe in you." With that, he hung up the phone and exited the room to continue his search for Piers.

* * *

Piers wasn't exactly sure how long he had been unconscious. He wasn't even worried about the time, but he was worried by the fact that where he had woken up was very different from the place that he had gone to sleep. It was no longer in the sterile opening hall of the mansion; instead, he was lying on a bed in a small room. He could have sworn that he heard a distinctive beeping noise, but he couldn't exactly place his finger on where it was coming from, or exactly what the noise was. It was just a pulsating beep.

He took solace in the fact that his head wasn't pounding as much, and it felt like he had grown a little cooler since he passed out.

"Chris?" he finally called. His words ricocheted around the room and fell back only on his own ears. There was no noise outside of the door. Piers wondered if Chris was the one who carried him into the room, but there was no sign that was the case. He started to wonder if he brought himself to this place.

Piers stood, and he almost toppled over. He extended his hand, and thankfully, it caught the wall and kept him from losing his footing altogether. He'd never felt like this, and it was making him uncomfortable; he felt helpless without a strong sense of cohesion in his body. He could barely see straight, and that caused him to question everything. Piers's eyesight was his power.

He stumbled to the door. On his knees, he wrapped his hands around the doorknob, and he finally got the thing to open. Piers crawled out on all fours, and he noticed that he was in a long tiled hallway. There were five doors total. Each one of them looked exactly the same, and so he chose to go to the first one, and it opened without a problem.

Inside was a bathtub, and inside of the bathtub was an old style phone. Piers searched the rest of the room, but there was nothing. There were some empty cabinets, some of the tiles were ripped apart, but overall, it was just a bathroom. Having little else to do, he picked up the phone in the bathroom, thinking it might be best to try and call Chris's cell phone. But as he picked up the receiver, he noticed that there wasn't a cord. There was no way to send calls out, and he just looked at it.

"What a stupid place for a…" Piers started, but then something started to come through the receiver. It was quiet at first; it was just a hushed mumbling sound, but he couldn't deny that there was something about the husky voice. It was Chris! He started to call out to him, trying to get his attention by saying, "Chris! Chris! It's me. Chris, where are you…? Chris…"

There were two voices now. One of them was certainly Chris, but the other was so muffled that he couldn't make it out. The entire conversations started to sound muddled. Piers pulled the receiver closer to his ear so that he could get a better sound out of it, but it didn't help. The sound just got further away, but there was this repetitive noise. It sounded like laughter, and it was a cruel laughter at that. A warm sensation started to caress his ear, and at first it felt sort of nice, but then it felt like something was oozing out of his head. Piers pulled the phone away from his face, and there was blood coming out of where the receiver was placed against his head.

Piers scraped at his own ear, and he finally got most of the blood out of it. When he dropped the receiver, the blood that was coming out of the earpiece splattered across the porcelain tub, and it left small flecks of crimson across the pure, white surface.

Confused, Piers backed out of the room, and as he did, the door to the bathroom shut without him even touching it. He tried calling out Chris's name one more time, but it didn't seem to matter. There were still three more doors in the hallway to search, and so he knew that all he could do was continue forward. Piers tried to open the next door, and it opened with no problem. Inside, there was nothing. It was just a window that showed what looked like a kitchen, but this time…but this time he could see him. Piers could see Chris. He was standing there, and he was looking away from him, but Piers could see him, and he rushed towards the window, and he started to pound on it!

"Chris! Chris! I'm right here. Can't you see me? Turn around!" Piers shouted as his fist hit the window, but it did little. Chris just kept looking away from him; it was as though he was talking to someone, but there was no one else in the kitchen with Chris. There was nothing for Piers to strike the window with, and so he just stood there and watched as Chris conversed with no one. He didn't understand why Chris could see him, but the longer he looked at Chris, the worse he started to feel. The creeping pressure on his head began to bore its way through his skull, and his temperature began to increase. The more he stared, the worse it got, but Piers couldn't take his eyes away from Chris.

There had to be some way to get his attention, but it didn't matter what Piers did, and it didn't matter how hard he smashed his fists against the window. Chris just seemed further away, and Piers felt the quivering in his hands and feet that came with the immense, painful sensations that pressed against his forehead. There was nothing to do.

"I need you, Chris…" Piers said, but there was no way for Chris to hear him.


	2. Chapter 2

In the adjacent hallway, Chris opened a door and found himself in an office, the S.T.A.R.S. logo emblazoned on the wall. There was a woman sitting at one of the multiple desks, her eyes downcast, wrist flickering to-and-fro as she jotted something down with her pen. When Chris closed the door behind him, her eyes shot up, pen flying out of her hand, which clacked loudly on the floor.

"Chris!" she exclaimed, standing up to clap him on the shoulders. "Where have you been? The captain was worried when you didn't show up this morning. I should probably give him a call."

As she was returning to her desk, Chris caught her wrist in his hand. "No. Don't talk about him. And don't tell him I'm here." He looked into her bright eyes pleadingly. "Please, Jill."

"Alright." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Did you two have an argument or something?"

"No." Chris didn't want to relay the future horrors that their once beloved captain would commit in the near future of this world, and he had to wonder if she would have even believed him. "Nothing like that."

"Well, how about you sit down with me and get some work done? The captain left a ton of work for us to catch up on."

"Sure."

When Jill sat back down, Chris stood in front of her desk and she handed him a stack of papers. She told him that they needed to be filed, so he made his way over to the filing cabinet and absentmindedly began to put them away. He didn't think his illusioned friend would particularly mind. He knew he was about to experience something horrid, but he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her work; this otherworldly Jill, yet to be tainted by Umbrella's excursions. Before the world had begun to fall apart before their very eyes. As he admired her innocence, he wished he could preserve that moment.

She looked up at him. "Chris? What is it?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

Suddenly, there was a loud crash coming from outside the door. A sense of foreboding crashed over Chris in a vicious wave.

"I should probably check that out," Jill announced as she stood up, holstering her gun. She began making her way towards the exit, but Chris was already there, his arms spread wide.

"No," he said.

"No? Chris, there could be someone in danger -"

"I said no!" he shouted. "I couldn't protect Claire. I couldn't protect Piers. I couldn't protect you. Just give me this, Jill. Go sit back down, okay? It's nothing. Nothing's going to happen."

She eyed him uneasily, but the tension in her shoulders eased. "You're probably right. But what's got you so on edge?"

"Nothing?" He nodded, and she smirked.

"Really? Then how about you open the door?"

Chris wasn't sure what would happen if this Jill was released into his world. Disappear into a puff of smoke, maybe. He didn't anticipate what would happen next.

"Okay." His arms dropped to twist the knob, but it wouldn't turn. He slammed his shoulder into the door as the sounds came closer and closer.

"Let me try." For a brief moment, their hands met before Chris slipped his hand away. "Is it…stuck?"

From the hallway erupted a surge of screams, and Chris shoved Jill back before the door burst open, sending Chris sprawling to the floor. Grotesque creatures were pouring into the room, and behind them, they left a dark, infinite abyss where the door had once stood. The flesh of the creatures was melting off their bones to hang in loose strips of faded pink and the darkness of decay. Their bony hands ended in hellishly sharp crimson claws, most of them still flecked with bits of skin from previous victims.

The beasts were launching themselves at Jill, and she shot off as many rounds as she could before becoming overwhelmed, so she flipped over her desk and jumped behind it. It was no use; they had her cornered. She was yelling his name, but it was distorted and faraway, almost as if he had been underwater. He resorted to his fists after everything he threw missed and fell uselessly to the floor, but his hands passed through them.

"Chris, run!"

"I…I can't. I can't do that, Jill!"

"Chris, just go! Find a gun! Something!"

The moment he jumped to the doorway and met a cold, hard wall, Chris realized what he had to do. As the monsters closed in on his closest friend, he had to watch. When his back hit the wall, his body slid down, pooling on the floor an exhausted, shaking mess.

As she was torn to pieces, as her skin and muscles were bitten off in chunks, overflowing in the creatures' mouths, Jill Valentine laughed. The last thing Chris saw were her blazing eyes peering at him, her skull devoid of flesh.

"It's your fault, Chris."

Once he had regained consciousness, he stumbled back into the hallway, meeting no resistance. He knew he wouldn't. His body was covered in sweat and he dreamt of pausing to clean himself up, to compose himself, but out there somewhere, Piers was alone, probably scared out of his mind. Despite all of the haunting regrets he held, not being able to save Piers from the mansion, and his own mind, wasn't going to be one of them.

Again he heard the shrill ring of a telephone, and he almost ignored it. He was so tired; all he wanted to do was find Piers, lie down with him, hold him so he wouldn't want to wander off again, and close his eyes. Begrudgingly, he dragged himself down the hall, entering what seemed to be another storeroom. A similar typewriter to the one in the last room stood on the table, and as he snatched up the phone's receiver, he clacked away on it noisily.

He wrote: Piers. Piers. Piers.

"Hello?"

At first, there was static, but before he could hang up, the voice of his sister rang through.

"Ch…ris?"

"Claire?" He sighed deeply, remembering the malice he had seen in the eyes of his sister's ghost.

"Jill told me what happened. And if she can't get through to you… Chris, do you know what this means?"

Something unspeakable, he thought. Something so unimaginable that fate somehow deemed it fit to torture him with these morbid hallucinations.

"Are you there? Chris?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I… I honestly don't know what to say. If Jill couldn't help you, what can I do, really?" She laughed awkwardly. "But at least know this: you're my big brother, and I love you. And I know you're going to make the right decision. You're going to pull through this."

"Thanks for believing in me, Claire. Sometimes I can't even believe in myself… so it means a lot."

"Of course. Stay strong, Chris. I'll see you soon."

His eyes felt hazy as he looked over what he had written over and over again: Piers. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Make it stop. Please. Piers.

Outside of the storeroom, his shoe crunched on what appeared to be a pair of sunglasses. More than anything, he wanted to walk away, a feeling of dread coursing through him as he looked down at them. Still, he leaned down to pick them up, placing them, too, in his pocket. He continued down the hall and found himself back in the main room. The last direction to head in was up the grand staircase, which was thickly carpeted, softening his heavy footsteps. When he came to the top, he paused to catch his breath and look out the window behind him, into the whiteout still billowing outside.

* * *

It was a snapping noise that caused Piers to regain consciousness after blacking out in the last room he was in. The snapping noise sounded a lot like a typewriter, and it clacked in different rhythms, but it always seemed to be spelling out a four letter word between spaces. He didn't know how far off the sound was, but he could hear the clacking, and then it just stopped. But where the typewriter ceased, he could hear the sustained beeping noise that he had heard before. Piers closed his eyes, and he focused on the noise, but he still couldn't place exactly what it was either.

He opened the door to the room he was in, and he stumbled back out into the hall. His illness seemed to come in waves. He would be fine for a few moments, but then the headache would start, and then he could swear that he'd hear Chris…but perhaps it was just him wanting something that he couldn't have. There were only two doors left now. Piers wondered what might be in the last one, so he slowly shuffled down the hall, his head was in hands as he did it. He could feel sweat beading down the back of his neck, and he started to removed some of his layers to cool himself down.

When he reached the door at the end of the hall, his hand wrapped around the knob, but it was locked. Piers just looked at it. Why was it locked when every other door had been opened so far? He turned back, and he could barely see the fourth door in the hallway. His vision was so blurry, and his head was pounding, and he just wanted to sit down, but he had to know if Chris was behind the door.

Something compelled him to look on, and so he dragged his feet along the ground, and he practically fell into the fourth room. Inside there was a bank of computers, and a red light was alerting that there was some sort of incoming transmission. Piers walked over to one of the seats in front of the computers, and he put the loose headset over his ears, and then he sat down.

There was a small rush of relief that came with getting off of his feet. He pushed the button down that allowed the incoming transmission to play through the headset, but he could only hear static.

"Why is this happening?" Piers said, almost in tears. And that was when the voices started to come through the headset. There were no words, there was just screaming, and crunching, and the sound of flesh being rend from bones. He knew the voice, but he couldn't make it out through the screaming, and then it just stopped, but before Piers could remove the headset, a voice simply said, "It's your fault, Chris."

The red light stopped flashing, and the transmission ended.

Piers pulled the headset off of his head, and he just looked around the room, and he realized that there was no way out of this hallway if that door was closed. He wondered if he had missed something, and all he wanted was to see Chris one last time. His breathing was labored, but he got up, and he walked out of the room, and shut the door as he left. The sniper figured that there was only one more thing that he could do, and that was to try and open the last door.

Piers walked back to it, and he wrapped his hands around it again, and the knob turned and the door opened.

"No! No fucking way," he said exasperated. "What is this? Is someone watching me? Are you watching me!? If you are, then let me just see Chris. Please! I don't know what your game is, but please, I just want to see him. You can do whatever you want to me after I speak with him!"

The door finished opening, and inside the room was a hospital bed. There was a beeping noise, the sound of the EKG to the side of the bed. There was another door in the room, but Piers was so tired, and there was no one in the bed; he just wanted to lay down for a minute. He would stop his search for just a minute.

That was all he needed; he just needed a minute.

* * *

At the top of the staircase stood a door, seemingly normal but off-putting in its own way, after that long, tedious night that seemed to draw on and on. Chris felt an ultimatum on the precipice; every moment he was delayed, the likelier he would find Piers even more hurt, or worse, and he wasn't willing to risk that any more than he had to.

He was met by a crackling blaze in the fireplace once he stepped inside, giving the room an almost cozy feeling. The walls were covered from floor-to-ceiling with books, and to his right, there was another door. It was probably meant for some kind of storage, but he hoped he wouldn't be here long enough to find out. Chris carefully made his way to the fireplace, but the floorboards still creaked from beneath the carpet. He rubbed his hands together in front of the fire, eyeing the various aged volumes.

A voice came from behind him. Its tone didn't surprise him in the least, but he still had to give the dramatic hallucinations credit.

"Wesker."

"And here I thought you'd be happy to see me, Chris."

When Chris turned around, he found the man sitting in one of the previously unoccupied reading chairs he had passed on his way to the fireplace. Wesker was sipping from a teacup almost mockingly, an open book propped over his knee.

"Cut the bullshit. I'm sick of these mind games. Just tell me what you want so I can get on my way. There's somewhere I need to be."

"There is nothing I desire. I own all I please." Wesker smirked, cocking his head knowingly at Chris, who clenched his fists.

"Then tell me what the hell -"

"Somewhere, or someone, Chris?" Wesker interrupted.

"That's none of your goddamn business, now -"

"There is only one thing you need accomplish here. Leave."

"Leave?" Chris furrowed his brow. "And you expect me to believe that you'll let me walk out of here, just like that?"

"Your faith in my word is not imperative. I simply ask one thing of you." Wesker set his cup down and stood, book in hand, stalking over to Chris, who tensed, but warily held his ground. He raised a gloved hand to brush Chris' cheek, and Chris almost let the moment pass him by. His hand shot up to grab Wesker's forearm.

"No."

"Very well." He smiled, and it lacked so much of its usual malice that Chris could almost feel his resolve waver. Wesker opened his book and pointed to its pages. They were blank. He took Chris' hand from his arm and led it to the book, and beneath Chris' fingers, brilliant colors bloomed where once there was white. The image painted was one of his sister and a lean redhead at what appeared to be their wedding.

"S…teve?"

He turned the page. There was a picture of Steve building a crib, a heavily pregnant Claire watching over him. The serenity - the utter normalcy - of it took his breath away. After flipping through a brief chapter of their lives together, a new character came into view.

"Jill…"

She was alone, which made him sad, but he knew how fiery Jill was at heart, just like Claire; she was a strong, independent woman. At first, she was standing alone on the porch of a large house looking over the yard, then Chris saw Jill with her friends; with Chris, even. It was almost like a flip-book, the way the individual memories passed by.

"Is… that all?" Chris nearly choked. Wesker shook his head and pointed to the dreadful forgotten door, steering Chris towards it, even wrapping Chris' hand around the knob.

"If you can walk away after opening this door, you will be free to continue on your way."

At first, Chris couldn't open it; his arm trembled, but Wesker steadied it with his own, and together, they opened the door. Inside were a flurry of infinite colors and shapes that blurred in and out of focus; he could have sworn he heard Steve's voice, and Claire's laugh. He could feel the warmth of Jill's smile, and all of it was so pure.

"If you stay, you could have all of this. Just step through the door," Wesker murmured, but Chris wasn't really listening.

"They look so…happy." And it fell in Chris' hands to keep or run away from this illusion, and that's exactly what it was.

But one person was missing.

"And Piers?" Chris asked. "What about him? You just expect me to forget about him? How much he needs me right now?"

"Chris, don't." Wesker clenched his upper-arm. His lips were peeling away to show a toothy grin. "You can't."

"You're a monster, and if you think I'm going to stay here with you while Piers is out there all alone… You're insane, Wesker, and I never -"

"You don't seem to understand, Chris. You can't leave." Wesker's hand on his arm had become a claw, the skin flaking off, falling to the floor. Chris could see through Wesker's cheeks, his jaw bones crunching together as he muttered uselessly. The bony hand gripped his arm tighter, tighter, until his arm began to feel numb. He pried the limb off, staring his enemy down in his cold, hard eyes.

"You think I'd stay here to be tortured by you? You think I'd give him up for you?"

Wesker was stretching his hands out towards him, but his hold on Chris' mind was entirely gone. Quickly glancing back to the open door, the voices still permeating through, he forced all of his strength into pushing Wesker through the doorway. Wesker screamed, feebly clutching onto the frame, but Chris slammed the door on his fingers.

The fire had gone out and Chris felt cold as he let out his breath. He was done with that mansion; the whole damn place. What more could possibly stand between him and Piers? He felt a renewed invigoration, despite the hollow aches in his joints. He wasn't going to leave without Piers; he couldn't lose him again.

And in that final stretch, he truly believed.

* * *

When Piers awoke from his small nap, he was changed. He was hooked up to most of the machines that were in the room, and he was wearing a hospital gown that was a few sizes too big. His eyes were tired, and his body ached; no matter which direction he turned, there was a hurting that was bone deep. He couldn't feel his right arm, and there were gauze, or something, over his right eye keeping him from seeing.

What was all this?

Where was he, and what was this place? It just didn't feel right. None of it felt right, and there had been this constant smell now. Now that he thought about it. It was a cologne, or a perfume. He had noticed it the whole time, or did he? Was anything here real? Was he even real?

"Stop thinking like that," he said aloud as though he were trying to convince someone other than himself. Maybe he was. But who?

"It's going to be okay, Chris. You're going to be fine…" Piers said aloud. The door in the corner to the room, the one that he was going to investigate before he felt too tired to walk, it opened. Piers could see through the door a little bit, and there were books from floor to ceiling, and he could see a man, a man that he loved.

"It's going to be okay, Chris," he said again, and he knew that the man would hear him.  
"Piers?"  
As Chris walked into the room, his breath caught in his throat. Making his way over to the bed, he leaned his hip against it. He brushed his hand against Piers' left hand; Piers' only one. He looked into the clouded eye that wasn't bandaged.

"Hey there, Snipey. I'm sorry I took so long. I had some things to put behind me. But I'm here now." Chris tried to smile, but found his lips quivering. His chest felt tight and he wanted to scream; to throw something, to punch something, but keeping his pain inside was how he was going to help Piers. It was all he felt he had control over. Grasping Piers' hand tightly, he brought it to his face and kissed each finger. "Did you miss me…much?"

Piers smiled weakly, but his eyes showed it was the sincerest, and he said, "I missed you more than you could imagine. And I thought we talked about you not calling me 'Snipey.'" He let out a laugh. "I'm glad I get to see you one more time. Remember me like this? Remember me like you did before, but don't linger here, okay…. You deserve a little happiness, Captain. But…but I'm afraid I can't stay much longer."

Piers pulled Chris's hand closer to his face, and just as Chris had kissed each one of his fingers, Piers did the same. After a moment of silence, he said, "Can you tell me a story? Something quick. Nothing schmaltzy. Just one last request…."

"I'm glad I get to see you, too, Piers. More than you could ever know. I'll remember the good, Piers. I promise. Just hang on for a little bit, okay? Just… do your best. That's all I ask. But I think our definitions of 'schmaltzy' are kind of different." Chris chuckled deeply; a bit forced, maybe, as he felt his chest tighten, but necessary. "I'll try, though. Remember when you found me at that bar in Edonia? Thinking back, I feel so ashamed of it. Unconsciously or not, how could I forget you, even for a second? And in that corridor, after Marco… wow, I really wanted to kiss you. I can't believe I didn't. How'd you manage to get yourself out of that one?" He struggled to string his words together. "Sorry, this is definitely passing the line of 'schmaltzy,' huh? Watching you train, though; Piers, you make me so proud. I was supposed to be the captain, and yet you're the one who always kept me in check. I'm just… I'm sorry, Piers. I'm sorry I couldn't have gotten there sooner. I just want you to know. I have a tomorrow thanks to you. And I'll always remember, Piers. I promise I'll find happiness again." Chris was having a hard time retaining his composure, but he had to. He just had to. "Is that okay? I mean, I could have told you about my first dog, but I would have ended up talking about you, anyways. So, why not just get to the point? I love you, Piers. Remember that for me."

"It may not seem it, and it's going to be hard, but I have a feeling that this isn't the last time we're going to see each other. I'll always love you, and while your story was a bit schmaltzy, I made a decision a little while ago that's going to take me away from you, and I'm not sorry I made that decision for a minute. One little prick of the needle allowed me to save you, and I'm proud of that decision…. Be good, Captain."

The room was empty, and it was cold. The mansion was a shadow of its former self. The ceiling was half gone, and the floor looked like it could crumble at any minute. The snow fell much lighter now, and it made its way through the nooks and crannies of the broken out ceiling, and it filled the room with a white brilliance. It was peaceful, and there was love. The old bed that Chris was standing next to was empty, though the sheets were slightly askew. On the pillow was a bloodied BSAA patch.

His cellphone rang. Once, twice, three times.

"Chris, where the hell are you? We've been calling you all night. You need to get to the hospital as quickly as you can. He did it…. He woke up, and he wants speak with you. Chris? Are you there?" Claire questioned on the other line.

_Remember me like this. Remember like before. We'll meet again._


End file.
